Every time I wear my old blue socks, I think of mid-September 1996

Last week, I was looking for clean socks, then I found my old blue socks...and story begins: it all started many, many years ago.

In mid-September 1996, I  paid my aunt Maluli and my uncle Miguel a visit to say goodbye, baceause I was about to leave to Austria. After chatting and saying goodbye, my aunt handed me 20 USD, she told me it was not much, but they could be useful.

A day (or two) after that I was in El Paso, Texas (My first flight to Innsbruck started here) and went shopping. I wanted to be prepared for the Alpine weather. I bought shoes, sunglasses and my first pair of non-white socks. You may not know it, but when you are a teenager and you get your first pair on coloured socks, you feel like you are on your way of becoming a responsible and productive member of society. With my aunt's money, I bought three pairs of socks: Blue, gray and bordeaux

Fifteen years later, I still wear my blue socks; the other two pairs got lost, because as everybody knows,  getting lost is the favourite activity of socks. Nobody knows why, it just happens, and we all accept it, because there is nothing we can do about it.

Last week, my aunt past away. She was the closest family member who died while I was in Austria. I talked to my father and to my grandpa. It is hard for him. I cannot imagine how empty can one feel after loosing your own daughter, your own son.

I haven't had a chance to talk to neither my cousins, nor my uncle, but when I see them, I will tell them that every time I wear my old blue socks, I think of mid-September 1996.

it is my dopamine system which has just been activated.

Early this year, Diana I. Tamir and Jason P. Mitchell, two psychologists from the University of Santa Barbara, California, published a paper in which they state that humans really enjoy telling about themselves. According to their paper, we devote almost half of our time informing others about our own experiences. They also quote other studies which even link “self-disclosure” to a triggering of the dopamine system. It is the system in the human body that gets activated when people eats chocolate, gets sunlight or use dope.

Tamir and Mitchell conducted an experiment with people and came to the conclusion that adults would be prepared to resign to a percentage of their salary (between 10 and 20%!!!), if they could talk more about themselves at work!

If you are a facebook friend of mine, you may notice that I frequently write quotes from the sitcom „Seinfeld“ on my wall. If you are note a facebook-friend of mine, now you know it: I am a Seinfeld fan.

I re-discovered Seinfeld some months ago and it has developed into my second best leisure activity (number one is preparing a Gin&Tonic before watching Seinfeld).

Some minutes ago, I was watching a Seinfeld episode in which Seinfeld is sitting in his car scratching the right side of his nose, when suddenly, his girlfriend sees him from the left side, and because of the perspective, she thinks he is picking his nose. Later in the episode, she broke up with him because of that.

As I saw that, I started to recall if I have experienced something similar (I love finding links between the sitcom and my life). I couldn’t think of something, so I continued watching.

Today is so nice and warm outside, that as soon as I came back home from the office, I changed my working clothes for a t-shirt and shorts. I had dinner in bed and I was so full, that I unbuttoned my shorts – an activity that proves that my body is changing (this started when I turned 30).

Well, my stomach was full, the atmosphere in my room was relaxing and watching the sitcom was so entertaining, that without thinking about it, my right hand started to move by itself. It suddenly landed right below my belly button, above the bladder. Then it happened: My flatmate entered my room without knocking and the first thing she sees is Oscar lying on the bed, watching something on internet with his right hand moving inside his shorts.

It all happened so fast that I could only say “Veronika, it is not what it looks like”.

She said “I am sorry” and left the room immediately.

Even though it was very embarrassing, I am writing down this story, I will publish it in the coming minutes on my blog. I already feel happy, I assume it is my dopamine system which has just been activated.

To my little friend

Normally, I get good along with my ex-girlfriends, but there is this one which is actually crazy. She was the first girlfriend I had in Innsbruck, that was back in 1997. I was younger than she was (18 vs. 23) and I was literally doing everything for her. She once prohibited me to see three of my best friends...and I did! I stoped seeing them, could you believe how dumb I was? Not that I stopped doing stupid things, but at least the stupid things I do now are funny, and stop seeing your best friends because your girlfriend asks you to do so is everything but funny.

Last summer I got a call from her, she was in Innsbruck and she wanted to meet me (She is also from Chihuahua and has been living in Chihuahua since we split in 1999). I did not want to be an idiot and accepted her invitation.

We met at a terrace, I had a salad and a slice of pizza. We were talking about this and that when she asked out of the blue “Which is the most beautiful thing you remember from our relationship”. Without hesitating, I automatically answered: “The knife we bought at the 10 Schilling shop” (a bargain store, now called “90 Cent shop”). First, she thought I was kidding and laughed, then she repeated the question and I told her “Alejandra, the only good thing of our relationship was the knife we bought at the 10 Schilling shop, I still use it until now”. She started crying...

I love this knife, it is small, and it never lost its sharpness, never in almost 15 years. My sister told me once she has a favourite knife ans when she cooks without it, she gets nervous. When I heard that I was relieved to hear I was not the only person on the planet sweating when chopping garlic cloves with a knife I am not used to.

On Wednesday, April the 17^th 2012 at around 17:50 my beloved blue knife passed away...

It was the best knife I ever had, and the only good that happened to me in a tormenting and long lasting relationship (20 months).

Little blue knife, I will keep you in my heart, and will remember you every time I chop garlic cloves and onions.

Oscar

 I will never forget you, you were the best...

I wish my name would have been Oscar Lowenstein

I once read some chapters of the bible because I wanted to know a little bit more about one of the most famous (and funniest) books in history.

The weirdest thing I read was in the old testament, it was a sort of rules for the readers - since jesus was not born - I assume the readers were Jews. This list was like the 10 commandments for food. The “readers” or “users” of this list were not allowed to eat, among others: Veal prepared with dairy products (so no cheeseburgers); meat from animals with a paw without division (so no pork, but deer for example), and “animals from the sea with no flakes” (no mollusks, no oysters…and if this is to be taken seriously no tuna).

In 2009 I had flatmate who worked for AirFrance for many years in London, and she once told me I should ask for a special meal when booking a flight, because these “special-meal-people” always get what their food, and they get it first than anyone. Most of us have experienced that when the flight attendant gets to our row with the food-cart, we cannot select between pasta and chicken anymore, because what we would have liked to order is finished, and we have no option but to eat whatever they give us.

When my brother and I flight together, we envy the Indian passengers, the Moslems, the Vegans because their plates always smell better than our chicken or pasta.

Yesterday I took a plane and when I booked, I did what my flatmate told me. People, I had a huge selection of meals to choose from: Gluten-free, Ovo-lacto-vegetarian, Buddhist…and I choose the coolest: Kosher-meal

In Chihuahua, I don’t know any Jewish, actually, I know no Jew at all. In Austria, at least in Innsbruck, it is hard to find them, maybe because – and this is well known - Germans and Austrians haven’t been very nice to them. However, in Chihuahua, I know some people with the last name “Lowenstein”, and apparently, that is very Jew – I learned that in Innsbruck.

Now back to the plane: There I was, falling asleep, when the flight attendant comes and tells me that my meal is on board and it will be taken out from a box, but they will not open it. As soon as she finished her sentence, I started to freak out.

Next: 10 minutes later, she shows up with a huge cardboard box with big letters written in Hebrew. Most of the passengers who saw me (or my kosher meal box) were staring at me, either because:

- the huge size of the meal box,

- I got my meal first than anybody on the plane and they were all very hungry,

- of the nice smell coming out of the box (my brother and I always stare at special-meal-boxes)

- or because one thing…and that was the thing I feared the most: I was not behaving like a Jewish person.

In this moment, I was under so much pressure, that I decided to act like a Jewish man (it was a pity I know no Jewish person at all), So, first, I did pretend I was inspecting if all food was really kosher, and then, the most difficult part started: I closed my eyes and pretend I was praying. In that moment, I really thought of making myself a Kippah out of my Lufthansa napkin and fixing it on my head with the toothpick, but, luckily I didn’t.

I was about to start eating, when the girl on my side asked me if I wanted her salad because she was not eating it, and I accepted, but when she was giving it to me I saw shrimps on it, so I had to reject the salad an told her “Sorry, I am Jew and I am not allowed to eat shrimps because shrimps come from the sea, but have no flakes”. I hope the Talmud really states that.

Last night was so interesting I wish my name would have been Oscar Lowenstein.

Please, don't try this at home

This is surely not the first time I write about prosecco, but it may be the first time that I write something negative about my party drink par excellence.

It is known that sparkling wines, like Champagne, Cava or in this case, Prosecco, are used to celebrate  among friends. The pearls in sparkling wine makes you smile, I actually feel very happy after the second prosecco glass.

Well, last Friday night I was home on my own and started to play the piano while enjoying a glass of chilled prosecco. This is for me - and I think I don't have to mention it - the best way to start the weekend. I was in the middle of my creative phase (this usually happens after 10 minutes of playing, when my fingers begin to ache) when I got a text message from Sylvain, a friend of mine. He and some other friends were in a bar (a place they own) having dinner.

I finished my prosecco and decided to join them.

When I got to the bar they were finishing dinner and they offered me a slice of quiche, but I was not hungry at all. So I had a glass of white wine and after half an hour it happened: I got incredibly hungry.

Sylvain, who went to the supermarket before, offered me some of his groceries. I took some red onions, Emmental cheese, eggs and rye-bread. I had the last sip in my glass and went straight to the bar's kitchen to cook dinner...under the funny influences of prosecco.

On Saturday night, I was on my bed enjoying an episode of Seinfeld, when I got hungry and decided to prepare something nice for dinner. So I opened a bottle of French wine and treated myself with  mushrooms on chilli, oil and vinegar and focaccia baked with potato slices and rosemary.

You probably have no idea where I am heading to. But it is OK, I am about to reveal everything, so this blog entry becomes clear to you. 

Prosecco puts peiple in the perfect mood to celebrate and makes them happy...but too happy to cook. Dear blog reader, if you ever have to cook for friends, or only for you, please avoid prosecco. Have red wine or fresh lemonade instead. Because even though the second glass of prosecco will make you feel like the best cook ever, it won't be true. It will be simply an illusion.

Do you want to see facts?

Four pieces of toasted rye-bread, a whole red onion fried with one cup of Emmental and two fried eggs...I swear I had nightmares that night and had to burp like jabba the hut!

Matured Manchego cheese, potato-focaccia, mushrooms vinaigrette and French wine, oh man! I slept like a baby after this!

Gin and tonic

I have a very good friend from Scotland and some time ago, she introduced me to Hendrick's (Thank you Lindsey!). Hendrick's is one of the few gin's distilled is Scotland and it was once voted “best gin in the world”.

In the last few months, it happened that I was in several airports, and something I always do at airports it's to check the duty-free stores. It is very funny to see how tourists from all over the world are tricked: I Have seen Martini bottles at 12 USD (the price in the supermarket around the corner is 7 USD) or Toblerone chocolate bars at 4 USD (they normally cost 1,5 USD).

The regular price of a 0,75 litre bottle of Hendrick's is 35 Euros, and in Cairo, the price was 17 for the 1 litre bottle...I got two.

Hendrick's has such a nice and smooth flavour you can drink it plain. I like it on the rocks with cucumber and lemon peel, but, my favourite is still the gin & tonic with cucumber, lemon and, very important: good quality tonic water.

Schweppes tonic water is available everywhere, and it is not bad, but for Hendricks it is simply not good enough. It is like preparing a sangria with fanta instead of using fresh fruits...or using garlic powder when cooking.

Today, I wanted to be home and enjoy a good gin & tonic. In my apartment I have plenty of Schweppes, but I did not want to waste my Hendricks with it, so I bought a bottle of normal gin. There were three bottle sin the supermarket: Gordon's, Beefeater and Sapphire Bombay...I always wanted to be a bobo - bohème bourgeois - ever since I hear about them, so I bought the Sapphire Bombay...the bottle looks more classy (Click here for the bobo definition in German, English andSpanish)

At the cashier, I asked to get a paper bag (I heard that bobos care about the environment), then I took my bike and rode home. Two minutes before arriving, I drove over a bump and my paper bag showed me why most people buy plastic bags: It felt apart and everything landen on th efloor. But I was lucky, only 2 of my organic eggs (it is bobo to buy organic products) were destroyed, but the rest of my groceries, including the sapphire bottle, survived the accident.

I got rid of the crushed eggs, put the survivors back in their box and started to put the groceries on my fake-leather bag (yes, I still posses accesoire whcih are not bobo at all). I started by picking up my weekend-highlight (the Sapphire bottle), then the rucola (rocket salad), the Kettle Potato Chips, the bresaola (am I a bobo or what?), and then, my nightmare came true: The gin bottle felt from the fake-leather bag and exploded in front of my eyes. It was sad...yes, it even hurted to see how my Friday entertainment broke into million pieces in front of me.

Now I am sitting in front of my PC, hearing sad songs and wasting the incredible flavour of Hendricks by drinking it with Schweppes...truly said: I can't wait until it is warm enough to start drinking prosecco - with 5 Euros, you are in heaven!

Acoustic pollution

First of all, I have to announce that this blog entry will not attempt to be as funny as the last one, which was - based on some of this blog readers - the funniest I have written. Today, I will once more write about food.

As an introduction: I am writing this while drinking a gin and tonic prepared with Scottish gin (Hendricks), Italian tonic (Stappj) topped with lemon and cucumber slices. I am not exaggerating if I write this is the best tonic and gin I've ever had.

Have you had the experience of sitting on the bus next to a teenager with no respect to his own ears? To be more precise, a guy with no music taste at all, hearing the worst techno beats ever on his headphones at such a high volume that one actually fears his head could explode. I have.

Yesterday, I took a plane from Cairo to Vienna and next to me, a woman on her 50s was next to me. I was incredibly tired from work (In Egypt, I co-organised and attended a workshop on new technologies and education). On the plane, I only wanted to have a glass of red wine and sleep. That was not possible because the woman next to me listened to music on her iPhone...and yes, she had no music taste and paid no respect to her ears and to us, the people surrounding her. Yes, she was a woman on her fifties hearing very bad heavy metal. The music's volume was so high that I recognised a song by Pantera. Can you imagine that? On the bus you can sit next to one of this guys for 5, maybe 10 minutes...I sat three and a half hours next to Mrs. Ozzy Osbourne

When I think of a woman on her 50s, I automatically think of my mom, her friends and the mothers of my friends. Actually, my mom is closer to her 60s than to her 50s, but I still make that link.

Now I will start writing about food:

Last time I spent time time with a woman at least 20 years older than me was four weeks ago in Barcelona, I was invited for lunch by Loli, the mother of a friend of mine. Loli is one of the best cooks I know, and that day, she prepared the following:

- Aperitivo: Olives and a glass of Spanish red Vermouth.

- Starter: Freshly sliced Jabugo (the best cured ham in Spain...and Spain produces the best cured ham in the world)

- Salad: Celery and winter tomatoes (the tomatoes had a thick skin and a very, very sweet flavour) with lemon juice and olive oil

- Side dish 1: Fried artichokes.

- Side dish 2: Chicken and ham croquettes

- Main course: Lentils with tomato, garlic and loads of olive oil

I am happy that Loli doesn't like Pantera and that her mobile phone has no headphone-connection, but I am sad because she was not next to me on that plane, we could have talked three and a half hours about food.

Here some pics from Loli's culinary art:

 cutting the jabugo

 Vermouth and jabugo

Artichokes 

 Chicken and ham croquetas

 Table for two :-)